


provolone

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves that it’s two oh six in the morning, and he’s standing, hip-cocked, one hand balanced on the counter, and he’s making <i>grilled cheese</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	provolone

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something really fluffy, and this has been floating around in my head for a while. Not my usual type of writing, but here you go. Hope you enjoy.

He loves Brendon.  That much he’s pretty sure about.

 

He loves that it’s two oh six in the morning, and he’s standing, hip-cocked, one hand balanced on the counter, and he’s making _grilled cheese_.  He’s not even using the toaster oven like Spencer would have; no, instead he’s got a little square of butter seeping into a pan and four slices of bread waiting with two slices of American cheese each.  He loves the fact that he’s in his bright red briefs and _Spencer’s_ old, ratty Blink 182 t-shirt.  It’s big, though, and he knows Brendon likes it.

 

He loves how he suddenly walks away, the fingers of his right hand tapping against his bare thigh in some messy rhythm.  He loves that he’s chewing absentmindedly on a piece of Provolone cheese and that he doesn’t even close the door as he pees.  He loves that he finishes the Provolone before flushing, comes back out, and pecks Spencer on the cheek before grabbing another slice and heading out of the kitchen.

 

“My legs are cold.  I feel like my hairs are protesting.”

 

Spencer just laughs and watches him go.

 

He loves that Brendon comes back downstairs wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants that he has to roll up and he’s just finishing his Provolone.  He loves that he returns and puts the four separate slices in the pans while Spencer tucks away the two cheeses because he knows Brendon will just keep eating it.  He loves that his sweatpants still hang low on hips, even when he starts to roll them up a second time.

 

“Are they even yours?” Spencer laughs, touching his wrist lightly, and Brendon smiles.

 

“Of course not.  I’m surprised I’m wearing my own underwear.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you wore them yesterday.”

 

“Fuck, I _really_ need to do laundry,” he grumbles, and Spencer just sighs.

 

“Finish my grilled cheese, and I’ll go haul your hamper downstairs.”

 

“Always the pushover.”

  
“Only with you.”

 

Spencer leaves it at that, touching his lips lightly to Brendon’s temple before turning away.

 

It’s been hard recently.  Like, really fucking hard.  He’s surprised he’s not falling asleep on his feet after being awake for so long, but he figures it’s all the Red Bull Brendon shoved down his throat throughout the day.  He can’t be mad about that, though, because he was the one that bought them, knowing it would be at least a three-day trek before either of them even _thought_ about sleep.

 

They’re on their third day, second night without sleep, and it’s been exactly that amount of time since they told the world, since he officially lost all respect for his once best friend.  He stops upstairs, looking around their room with a sigh, and he rubs his eyes.  Sometimes when he’s alone, when he and Brendon dare to leave each other, he can hear every single word Ryan said, and it makes his heart thud painfully in his chest, it makes his whole body tighten, and he feels like he might collapse from the pressure.

 

Even though they just told the world barely three days ago, it’s been official, between the four of them, for almost a month now.  He remembers that first month so clearly, remembers Brendon barely getting out of bed, Jon calling them trying to apologize, Ryan continuing to ignore everything, and Spencer eventually snapping and driving over to their house only to leave Keltie to drive Ryan to the hospital with blood streaming down out of his nose and covering his _“fucking expensive shirt, you dickwad!”_   Jon had known better than to answer Ryan’s frantic phone calls; he stayed away from Vegas for at least a week.  That had only been a few days after the initial shock, and, when Spencer finally returned home, Brendon was curled in a blanket, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him.  He remembers walking in, and he just fell apart, Brendon calmly setting his mug down and going to take him to the couch and comfort him.

 

_“It’s all my fault.  I fucked everything up.”_

_  
“Spencer.  You’re not the reason we fell apart.  You are not.”_

He didn’t know how many times Brendon told him that over the month following their unofficial split.  He kept trying to convince himself it was his fault, that he had ruined everything, and he tried so hard to fix everything, to convince everyone they could just kiss and make up, like they always had, and then Ryan had to take it a step further.  He’ll never forget that day, never forget the day they finally decided to announce it, officially, will never forget everything he said, the way he just _knew_ he and Ryan would never be friends again, not even to nod and say hello.

 

 _“You’re a fucking faggot asshole, and I never want to see your goddamn face again!  No, Urie, don’t fucking open your mouth!  I’m sick of all your bullshit!  All you do is fuck around_ all _the time, whether it’s with music or people!  Do you even care anymore?  Are you happy that Pete and Ash are breaking up?  Is that what you wanted?  Really, Urie?  Did you fucking want to destroy Bronx’s life?  He’s going to be just as fucked up as you and me!  You remember that, right?  You remember when we found you, how lost you were?  And you go ahead and return the favor by fucking us over in every possible way?  SHUT UP!  DON’T EVEN TRY TO TALK!  THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!  You took Spencer, and you FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!  And those songs?  Yea, see if Panic will survive with_ you _as their lyricist!  You are_ nothing _without me, and you never will be!”_

And Spencer just remembers looking at Brendon’s face when Ryan finally finished, watching as Brendon stood up very slowly, white as paper and _so still_.  It’s unnerving.  He’s so used to Brendon always moving, so used to all of his little ticks and quirks.  But Brendon just stands there, shakes his head, and looks over at Spencer, one look, and then he steps forward, gets very close to Ryan’s face.

 

_“Is this you trying to admit that you slept with Pete, that you know you fucked things up between him and Ashley?  Because, last I checked, Ryan Ross was the slut of FBR, not me.  I’ve only slept with one man in my life, Ryan, and you know that.  We’re done.  We’re announcing it.”_

_“Announcing what, you loser?”_

_“This.  You.  You’re done, Ryan.  You’re out, and we’re announcing it, officially.”_

“Spencer!  Cheese!” Brendon hollers up the stairs, and Spencer sighs, palming his face.

 

He’s been living in the past too much lately, and he needs to stop.  He needs to be strong for Brendon, needs to chase away the hurtful words Ryan has rooted in his mind so that he’ll always think the split and their loss of friendship was his fault.

 

“Spencer, honestly!  I don’t have that many clothes!”

 

He sighs again before heaving up the hamper and hauling it downstairs.  He leaves it by the washer before joining Brendon in the living room where he’s set them up with grilled cheese, fruit punch, and a cute little fruit salad.  He’s flipping through the channels, and he totally spasms when he clicks on _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ , and Spencer just laughs and sits next to him, taking his hand.

 

He loves the way Brendon can quote every other line, loves remembering his face when TAI released Barrington, and Brendon almost jizzed himself because he was so excited about the reference and then _“the video, Spencer Smith, the video,”_ he’d said.  He loves the way Brendon has to fold his legs up underneath him or they’ll shake, loves the way he keeps one hand laced with Spencer’s because he’ll start tapping rhythms on his thigh again if he doesn’t.  He loves the way that Brendon can _never_ sit still, no matter what he does.  Even when they do interviews, when he takes his Ritalin, only before interviews, so that he can gain just a small sliver of calmness, he still moves around, still always shifts and squirms.  Spencer sometimes smiles at him, even when he’s not saying something funny.

 

He loves how Brendon giggles and leans over to kiss Spencer’s cotton shoulder before just leaning into him, and he happily wraps an arm around him, holding him close.  They spend the rest of the night like that, curled up together and watching _Movies That Don’t Suck_.  When the sun is just cresting the horizon, though, he yawns and Brendon makes a soft noise against his neck.  He looks down and smiles.  He’s sound asleep.

 

Spencer sets about moving Brendon away from him before cleaning their mess up, shutting off the TV, and going to transfer the wash to the dryer.  When that’s all said and done, he carefully and adorably picks Brendon up, cradling him in his arms, and he loves how Brendon mumbles incoherently and he can feel his smile against his neck, he loves how Brendon just snuggles closer to him, light as a feather in Spencer’s arms.  He loves how adorable he looks when he places Brendon on the bed, and Brendon just hums appreciatively and curls onto his side.

 

He tugs his sweatpants off of Brendon, and, as he strips to his boxers and a t-shirt, he smiles.  He loves Brendon.  That much he’s pretty sure about.


End file.
